CHAPTER V.
"The heart of a wicked man sighs for evil, and no one can find pardon before him . . . . ."
Robert was willing to accede to any wish of the good man who had so generously charged himself with his destiny. We have said before, that he was gifted with noble qualities; he had a lively perception, his intellectual faculties were strong, and he seemed to have power to do all that was required of him. He had no knowledge of what was not good, and possessed one of those happy organizations which can only be a gift from God. He felt it his duty to obey all that his protector wished; and when he told him that his interest required that he should go to the house of' Madame de Vernanges, and share in the liberal education this lady gave her son, Robert replied: "If' it is your wish, I am ready to go."
'The curé was surprised and touched at this eagerness to fulfil his wishes, this entire self-abnegation in one who could not but prize the sweet liberty of acting for himself, which he had so long enjoyed on his native mountain; and a still further proof of his remarkable disposition was, that he knew, young as he was, the art of sacrificing his tastes to duty, and the necessity of making himself agreeable to those who interested themselves for him. The kind priest did not wish to spend Robert's money for things which could be dispensed with, but his clothes were unsuitable to his new position, so he had him a complete wardrobe prepared, and a woman could not have been more careful about the minutest details.
'When all was in readiness he conducted him to the house of Madame de Vernanges. As soon as she saw him, she felt as if he was a regenerating angel to be placed near her son. She embraced him affectionately, and asked him if he "would love her like a mother?" "Oh!" said he, at once becoming serious at such a question, "I cannot promise you that, dear [{829}] madame, for it would be impossible for me to feel for any other woman the same degree of affection that I feel for my mother;" but, he added, smiling sweetly, "I think I can assure you that I will love you much."
Some author says that a child only loves his mother for the services she renders him. Can this be true? No—it is blasphemy against filial love; and were it so, alas for the happiness of mothers! Far sweeter is the idea that one loves the other for the other's sake alone; one is the consequence of the other, it is a love eternal like the soul, like its divine author, like God himself: There may be some selfish children who measure their love for their parents by the services they render them, but they are monsters—sad and rare exceptions—and deserve all our pity. The proof of what we affirm is found in the love that Robert always preserved in his heart for the dear and sacred remembrance of his mother. It is the strongest, most lively and unalterable of feelings, and has no rival in the other loves God has given to man in his short life. Who can hear the name of mother spoken without feeling a delicious sensation, and having a tear-drop moisten the eye?
Madame de Vernanges was so pleased with Robert's frankness, that she felt for him from that moment the most tender sympathy. After a few moments' conversation Gustave was sent for, but the reception he gave his future companion of play and study, was not very encouraging to the latter. At first, from the height of his grandeur he looked down upon him with disdain, and received with a very bad grace the amiable advances of Robert, who wished to conquer at once the friendship of his young comrade. He was astonished and sad at the coldness showed him, but little by little Gustave softened, and laid aside his insolent air. The acquaintances of this period of life are easily made. Robert gave himself up with perfect abandon to the new pleasure of playing and talking with a child of his own age. He was not distrustful, for he had no experience; and as his own thoughts were so good and pure, he never suspected others. The mother and the curé, though seemingly occupied in conversation, followed with observing and restless eyes the movements of the children. The latter feared, and not without reason, to see some awkward blunder made by a child raised so far from the world, and in the simple habits of a happy mediocrity. But to his inexpressible satisfaction he saw Robert as easy in his manners as in his language, and he acted as if he had been bred in a parlor. His rare intelligence displayed itself in his answers to Gustave, and he could not have been more sparkling in his repartees. His candor and good nature did not permit him to comprehend the perfidious intentions of his saucy interrogator, and it was a cruel mortification for the wicked Gustave, not to be able, in spite of his ruses, to find any fault with Robert. He had counted on a triumph, and received a complete humiliation; he thought to show his superiority to the child who was given him as a model, and his disappointment was that he felt before him his great defects.
During this time the good priest inwardly rejoiced at the success of the little orphan, while the poor mother sighed in making a sad comparison between the children of the same age, but so different in character; and in spite of her wish to the contrary, she could not but see the low and envious sentiments which ruled the conduct of Gustave, and the goodness contained in each word Robert uttered. Her heart was well-nigh broken, and in bitterness she exclaimed: "Wicked! always wicked! he has not one good thought, one blameless moment. I am cruelly punished for my guilty weakness toward him. O God! is it too late to reclaim him? Is there no remedy for his wickedness? and must I bear all the ills of such a child?"
Assured by the way in which Robert had taken the first and most difficult steps in his new abode, the good priest prepared to leave. It was in warm and pressing terms that he recommended his protégé; and embracing him, gave him his paternal benediction. "I will see you soon," he said to him, and this promise consoled him, for he felt sure he would always be a generous defender, a tender and devoted. friend. The child flattered himself for some time that he had gained the confidence and friendship of Gustave, but he had soon to renounce that belief, for, in spite of his profound dissimulation, the latter could not always keep up appearances, and Robert suddenly discovered the truth. This made Gustave hate him bitterly, and nothing could diminish it; but Robert spoke of it to no one but the priest. Encouraged by his silence, which Gustave mistook for the silence of fear, he was always making war with him when they were alone. Before his mother, or any other person, he did not dare to do so, but changes of manner were no trouble to the young hypocrite, for he could put on a bold air, and give himself the calm serenity of innocence. This premature corruption, this innate science of' evil, he carefully hid, and was deceitful above everything to those before whom he wished to appear good. In the first days of their acquaintance he had conceived a violent hatred to Robert, but he felt the necessity of dissimulating, so as not to awaken the suspicions of his mother; so that he did not openly declare war with his rival, for he knew that would be an irreparable fault. He trusted to chance, which sometimes helps the wicked, and waited for an occasion to present itself.